- Vol. 04
- Chapter 11
The Green Maws of Night
My spot picked out by prickly pear cactus a point of night edged hard by the Pampas a separate patch from both jaguars, spiders in their human form; of land rat.
I am aware the green jaws of my dreams like a woman’s remorseless work of hands grind, pummel and knead my pulp into squash much the same red as this fresh new blanket
swaddling me, shoulders to sandaled toes and is black, black as blood in the moonlight: unless I am already asleep, easy a tad watchful, waiting for reckless night.